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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28562094">Red Vs. Blue: Redemption</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClockWords/pseuds/ClockWords'>ClockWords</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Red vs. Blue</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst with a Happy Ending, Edit: I said IMPLIED tuckington and I just got off the rails lmfao, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, Locus tries to integrate with the reds and blues, M/M, Seasons 15-18 didn’t happen, They missed their chance with Locus, This is gonna be a roller coaster, Tucker’s trying to heal :(, Wash is SO tired, im gonna try not to focus on ships here but Tuckington is a factor in this, implied past Chucker, implied tuckington, post-chorus, the rest of the gang is there too</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-11 01:20:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,111</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28562094</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClockWords/pseuds/ClockWords</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“But it all clicks; Washington damn-near forgot that he added somebody to the team of the iconic, rainbow, rag-tag idiots. </p><p>He forgot that he pulled Locus into the family.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lavernius Tucker/Agent Washington</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Seasons 15-18 didn’t sit well with me. So much could’ve been explored, but wasn’t. Locus deserved more story, so this is it. I’m making a multi-chapter fix-it fic, taming place Post-Chorus. Seasons 15-18 are not canon in this, but much of the emotional elements are. This is a journey about Locus learning to be human again, Tucker healing, and Wash finally getting a chance to rest. Hope you enjoy.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>   He was so goddamn tired. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>   The weight of an entire planetary war finally deflated, albeit slowly. He could not </span>
  <em>
    <span>believe </span>
  </em>
  <span>that he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>still </span>
  </em>
  <span>fighting; still shooting, running, planning, helping, hiding- </span>
  <em>
    <span>all of it. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>I’m too old for this shit. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>   After weeks of struggle in the Chorus war effort, Agent Washington could finally take some time to simply breathe without the worry of bullets flying in his face. His sleep was completely </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucked, </span>
  </em>
  <span>more so than usual. Tucker did what he could to help, but he could only do so much with his own trauma lurking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   After Felix’s death, after clean-up and making sure everybody was okay after their final fight, Washington made his way to his bunk on Chorus (which he reluctantly shared with Tucker and Caboose). It was late as hell, with the night pouring into Washington’s bones. Pieces of armor fell to the floor, bit by bit, until he was left in his uncomfortable Kevlar suit. He takes a deep breath, chest moving out in slow, practiced movements. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   The suit’s a pain in the ass to remove, and the blond contemplated the idea of calling Tucker or Carolina  in to help remove it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>  His brain turns to mush, suddenly, exhausted from the last fight and the war in general. Washington takes a few feet forward, reaching his shared mirror. He examines his face, noticing the rough patches of stubble at his sharp jaw as well as the deep, almost bruise-like circles underneath his tired eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Jesus, I look like shit- </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>   “You </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>   By reflex, Washington jumps three feet in the fucking air and grabs a knife that he kept hidden behind the mirror.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Only to be met by an incredibly raging, </span>
  <em>
    <span>slightly attractive </span>
  </em>
  <span>and clearly fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>exhausted </span>
  </em>
  <span>Lavernius Tucker. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Wash lowers his knife, noticing the opened NAV-door behind Tucker. The light from the hallway flared behind him, casting a harsh shadow into the already dark room. </span>
</p><p>   Before the blond can question Tucker, he’s getting a face-full of the man and teal-armored hands shoving his chest. The attack came unexpectedly, Wash’s exhaustion taking over and forcing him to nearly trip back against the mirror. </p><p>
  <span>   “When the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck </span>
  </em>
  <span>were you gonna tell me!” Tucker’s in Wash’s face, </span>
  <em>
    <span>dangerously </span>
  </em>
  <span>close to crossing a physical boundary that could easily set Washington off in a quick second. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   He liked his personal space, dammit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “What the hell are you talking about?” He pushes Tucker back by the breastplate, worn-out eyes trying to focus on the man at hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Are you fucking kidding me? I’m talking about our new </span>
  <em>
    <span>recruit.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>   He said that last word with such </span>
  <em>
    <span>venom; </span>
  </em>
  <span>pure hatred, anger and distrust evident in Tucker’s tone. He’s grabbing the gloved hand at his chest and throwing it to the side, opting to push at Washington even </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>I want a fucking reaction out of this prick-</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>   But it all clicks; Washington damn-near forgot that he added somebody to the team of the iconic, rainbow, rag-tag idiots. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   He forgot that he pulled Locus into the family. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “I- okay, look, I was going to tell you in the morning-“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “In the </span>
  <em>
    <span>morning?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Are you fucking serious right now? You didn’t even fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>ask us!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>   Oh, that- that was so </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Well- I mean, I kinda </span>
  <em>
    <span>did. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Just not… you… or Simmons.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “</span>
  <em>
    <span>What.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>Wash had asked everyone who was in the room at the moment when the decision was being made. He hadn’t gone out of his way to exclude Tucker from the decision, he merely wasn’t thinking. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>What else is new?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>   “So you fucking made the decision </span>
  <em>
    <span>without </span>
  </em>
  <span>me? You fucking- god, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>how I feel about him, Wash!”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   And, damn- his face was fucking insane. He’s clearly fighting back the urge to cry, Wash thinks, and Tucker’s cheeks were red enough to show through his dark complexion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Tucker, calm down! It wasn’t on purpose!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “I don’t fucking care! It still </span>
  <em>
    <span>happened! </span>
  </em>
  <span>And you did it so fucking soon-“ he’s shoving Washington again, this time hard enough to push the agent to the wall. His hands aggressively rest against Washington’s collarbones, threatening to bruise. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Tucker couldn’t formulate the right words, so Wash took that as an opportunity to sooth. He takes a practiced breath before raising his hands and resting them on Tucker’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Dealing with an angry Tucker wasn’t fucking fun. It was rare, due to the fact he hardly took anything seriously. But when it mattered, when it </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>mattered, Tucker was like a ticking time bomb that needed special and practiced care to defuse. That includes giving reason and logic to the situation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   And the only people who had that kind of practice were Church and Washington. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Look, I know you’re angry. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>do. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I wasn’t thinking when I brought up the situation with the rest of the team. Locus didn’t even want to-“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Then </span>
  <em>
    <span>why-“ </span>
  </em>
  <span>he’s shoving harder, but Wash can tell his face is softening. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Because you gave me a chance. And you gave Carolina a chance.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Tucker eases up after that, backing off and glaring at the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “That was different; you guys didn’t try to eradicate a planet’s population.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Didn’t we, though? Her and I were killers too, Tucker. We </span>
  <em>
    <span>still </span>
  </em>
  <span>are-“ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>fucking say that-“ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “My point is, Locus is in the same spot we were when we first met you. He helped us-“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “He helped us with a problem he fucking started!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Wash’s patience began to dwindle, his lack of sleep devouring it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Fuck, Tucker! That’s my point! Carolina and I were a part of your problem back in Bloodgulch, and we tried to fix it! We </span>
  <em>
    <span>helped </span>
  </em>
  <span>you guys! Tucker, I fucking shot Donut and helped the Meta try to kill you; </span>
  <em>
    <span>all </span>
  </em>
  <span>of you! But you guys still helped me escape prison, anyway. You guys saw something in me that I didn’t.” He lets out a heavy sigh before continuing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “I think Locus is trying to do the same, Tucker. He had a shitty start, just like Carolina and I. And even if he makes me </span>
  <em>
    <span>really goddamn nervous, </span>
  </em>
  <span>I think we should just- give him a chance.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Tucker huffed, one hand on his hip as he mulled the idea over in his head. He’s fighting a mental war, split between supporting Wash and throwing Locus off a fucking cliff. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Fuck- </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Okay, whatever. He’s with us. But he will never fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>be </span>
  </em>
  <span>one of us, got that? I won’t go out of my way to be a dick, but I’ll do it if it calls for it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Wash couldn’t help the small smile slip across his face, relief evident in his features. “That’s all I ask, Tucker. And I promise, if he fucks up, we’ll take care of it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Tucker only nodded, glancing at his bed. He starts removing pieces of his armor, exhaustion setting deep into his bones. Washington leans over, helping Tucker out of his Kevlar suit so they could prep for long-awaited sleep. In the morning, they would have a meeting with Kimball about relief programs, so they needed all the rest they could get </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Tucker helps Wash out of his suit in turn, stopping the zipper at the small of the blond’s back, and leans over Wash’s shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>   “If he fucks up, dude, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll </span>
  </em>
  <span>take care of it.” </span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Here’s a little on Locus’ POV, hope y’all enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>   It wasn’t exactly </span>
  <em>
    <span>ideal. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>   It just merely happened. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Well, whaddya say? Wanna join the team? I mean, where else are you gonna go</span>
  <em>
    <span>?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>   Locus was reluctant at first, the idea sinking like black ink in his bones. He shook his head at first, almost immediately. </p><p>
  <span>   “No, I can’t. I’m afraid I won’t be a proper fit for your group. I have to do a few things on my own for a while. Thank you, though</span>
  <em>
    <span>.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>And really, all Locus could do was thank Wash. he didn’t know what else to say; words were never his strong suit. But Wash simply </span>
  <em>
    <span>persisted. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>   However, it was actually Grif that made him change his mind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Jesus, dude, you’re a fuckin’ buzzkill. Which means, we’ll shape you up just like we did Wash and Carolina.” he grins, earning a sharp glare and an offended </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hey!</span>
  </em>
  <span> from Carolina. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “If you’re anything like these two, you’ll fit in just fine. What the hell else do you have to do, anyway?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>A lot.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>   What really made Locus twitch was the fact that Grif was </span>
  <em>
    <span>right. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He had nowhere to go, nobody to run to, and he’d probably have a lot more time on his hands, now. The only issue was the fact that Locus desperately wanted to do </span>
  <em>
    <span>something. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>   “The relief programs. You can help with that.” Carolina offered curtly, arms crossed over her chest. “Wash and I know a thing or two about wanting to right some wrongs. Start small.” </span>
</p><p>   That was all she had to offer, taking herself and the rest of the group with her to meet with Kimball. Simmons and Tucker had already headed back before any of this, towards the medbay, both with deeper injuries than expected. </p><p>
  <span>   This group definitely threw Locus for a loop, even before he considered backstabbing Felix. He read their files excessively (especially Wash’s and Tucker’s), and he couldn’t wrap his head around it for the life of him. What </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>stumped him is the fact that they took down the Meta, with a warthog no less. They physically shouldn’t have been capable of it, and yet, here they stood; alive to tell the tale. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   But there’s also just so </span>
  <em>
    <span>many </span>
  </em>
  <span>of them- he had no godly idea how Felix kept up with them all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   The dark blue one, -</span>
  <em>
    <span>Caboose, I think-</span>
  </em>
  <span> was far too excited for Locus’s liking. He understood Caboose the least, and that made him uneasy. The merc couldn’t tell if Caboose’s affection was genuine or not, and people with alternative motives set him into a dark, internal frenzy after everything with Felix. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   And Tucker. That was a character. He thought nothing of him, at first, until he realized it’s almost always </span>
  <em>
    <span>him </span>
  </em>
  <span>that realizes any problem before everybody else; he sees the big picture and doesn’t even realize it half the time. To him, it was natural. Tucker could sniff out the shady people in a heartbeat, and that was something Locus found very useful. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>He’s a people person. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>   And he was; Tucker was a people person at heart. Just not in the way Felix was. Felix was manipulative, and used his people skills to get what he wanted. Whereas Tucker used his skills to do something </span>
  <em>
    <span>good. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The best part? He almost never realized he was doing it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   But Washington is where Locus got a little… </span>
  <em>
    <span>obsessive. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>   Locus spent weeks trying to figure out what the hell made Washington tick, still unsuccessful at that. But finding out that Felix was actually afraid of Locus wasn’t the only factor playing in Locus switching sides; it was also the fact that he realized </span>
  <em>
    <span>if Agent Washington is redeemable, then maybe so am I. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>   But never did he expect to be asked to join their group by Wash himself, after everything Locus put the blond through. And yet, here he was, sitting in the same room as all of them without aiming his weapon at somebody. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   So, Locus agreed. There were mixed emotions from some (Carolina, Lopez, Sarge and Simmons when Grif informed him later), while others were shockingly accepting (Grif, Caboose, Donut and Washington). But Locus expected as much, and was more than relieved that he had even one of them welcoming him into the group. </span>
</p><p>   “You’re already thinking too hard.” Wash broke his train of thought, Carolina and the others already gone. Locus didn’t understand what he meant, so he only offered a soft rumble. </p><p>   “I mean you’re overthinking, Locus. I can already tell you do that a lot. C’mon, let’s talk to Kimball for a second. We’re gonna have to inform her we’re going to need a bunk for you.” </p><p>
  <span>   Locus </span>
  <em>
    <span>hated </span>
  </em>
  <span>that idea. He absolutely did </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>fucking deserve a bunk with these people. These people fought for their fucking lives every day, while Locus was half the reason for that. But before Locus could protest, Wash was already bumping his shoulder with his own to urge him to move. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Did he just- </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>   Physical contact; that was alien to Locus, unless it was an attempt at his life. But a weird, friendly bump to the shoulder? Foreign. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Locus was given a bunk, although there was plenty of argument and attempts at convincing. Internally, he winced, because the last damn thing he wanted was to be a debate for people to argue over. He originally wanted to leave for God’s sake, so he didn’t have to be a fucking problem for others again. He was tired of </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurting </span>
  </em>
  <span>people-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   The bunk was actually relatively close to Wash’s quarters; a deal they made with Kimball. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This was your idea, so you get to babysit.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>   Locus was grateful he had the opportunity to be closer to Washington, because he’s pretty sure Wash is the only one he could learn to trust (not </span>
  <em>
    <span>trust, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but </span>
  <em>
    <span>learn </span>
  </em>
  <span>to). </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   But it had a trade off.</span>
</p><p>   It also meant he was in close-quarters with Captain Tucker. </p><p>
  <span>   Tucker wasn’t there when the decision to add Locus to the group was made, but something deep in Locus’ gut told him Tucker would be the </span>
  <em>
    <span>most </span>
  </em>
  <span>adamant about sending Locus over a fucking cliff like the Meta. He didn’t know much about Tucker outside his files, but after everything he saw on the battlefield for the last few weeks he can definitely tell Tucker has a lot of deep anger that has yet to be unraveled. The loss of Church didn’t help, either. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   It was late, and Locus was damned exhausted. He drops his armor to the floor, carefully placing everything together in an organized fashion. Guilt wouldn’t stop rearing its head, and Locus didn’t blame it. </span>
</p><p>   He tried to kill these people, and now they offered him a home. </p><p>
  <span>   It was really all too much for him, and he couldn’t fucking sleep right because of it. He tossed for what felt like hours, until he heard the noise through his wall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   He could hear yelling from a single person. The voice was several octaves higher than his own. Locus hadn’t been around Tucker much outside of trying to kill him, but he was pretty damn sure it was his voice. And the words may have been muffled, but it didn’t take a genius to know exactly what Tucker was pissed off about. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>He’s taking it out on Agent Washington. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>   This was </span>
  <em>
    <span>exactly </span>
  </em>
  <span>what Locus was trying to avoid; being a fucking issue for others. He already did plenty of that, and the whole point of leaving was to try and fix it. Locus just simply couldn’t say no. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   The yelling grew louder until he heard what sounded like a thud against the wall. The merc winces visibly this time, taking the pillow and covering his ears with it. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>I just can’t stop causing problems-</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>   The arguing eventually ceased, but not Locus’ deep guilt and regret. </span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I wanna have 8 chapters, I think? They’ll more than likely grow longer as I go lol. Please leave kudos and comments, they help motivate me!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Tucker struggles with what’s reality and what’s merely a memory.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I’m actually really excited for this chapter! And this time, I have my first beta reader! Shout out to toepriv2 on Instagram for beta reading for me :) they did an incredible job and really improved this chapter. Give them a follow, they have really neat edits!</p><p>Enjoy the chapter!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>   That morning, Wash and Tucker were sent on a relief program with Jensen and Palomo. They stood in a hanger of pelicans, dawn just barely breaking through the skyline. While Jensen was doing double-checks with Palomo outside a pelican to make sure they had all the supplies they needed, Wash and Tucker were going over each coordinate they had to hit in their 15 hours.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Tucker didn’t even sleep the night before, too concerned about practically </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything </span>
  </em>
  <span>that’s happened in the last 72 hours.The fact that Locus was on the team didn’t help their case, either.  Wash, sharing a room with Caboose and Tucker, was aware of this, but regretfully didn’t comment on the matter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Jesus, do we have to do it this damn early?” Tucker yawns, arms reaching upwards to stretch his limbs and chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “You do know it takes </span>
  <em>
    <span>hours, </span>
  </em>
  <span>right? We have no choice </span>
  <em>
    <span>but </span>
  </em>
  <span>to do it this early, Tucker.” Wash explains while  pulling up a map, immune to the early morning hours. “Okay, we’re heading to a colony called Fort Briggs, first-“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “That sounds more like a base than a colony…”</span>
</p><p><span>   “It used to be, actually. But in the last ten years they’ve converted it after Feds forced a colony out of their home. Since they had mines there the Feds wanted the place like </span><em><span>hell</span></em><span>.</span> <span>Also, I’m gonna warn you now, it’s pretty goddamn cold.” </span></p><p>
  <span>   Tucker looks up, “Colder than Sidewinder?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “No, why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Tucker grins, “Then I think we’ll be okay.” Though Wash knows his intentions, Wash still feels ridiculously guilty over that memory and immediately starts burying it as far into the abyss of his stupid brain as possible. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Too soon, Tucker.” But he’s kinda smiling, too, even if it’s lopsided and exhausted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   It took roughly two hours to reach Fort Briggs, and Tucker watched from above in amazement at how quickly the climate transitioned from grassy plains to icecaps and snowy hills. The snow glittered in the early morning sunlight, reflecting in a soft shimmer on Tucker’s visor.</span>
</p><p><span>    “Try sleeping on the way there, we got a little while.” Wash offered in a knowing tone, making it known that he’s </span><em><span>aware </span></em><span>but won’t bring it up (they never</span> <span>bring </span><em><span>anything </span></em><span>up when they should, for God’s sake).</span></p><p>
  <span>   Tucker takes off his helmet, rolling his head to the side to make eye contact with Washington. “Don’t worry about me, babe, this face is completely fine without a little sleep.” He’s smiling, but Wash can see the deep bruise-like circles under his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   And, okay, </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes, </span>
  </em>
  <span>the pet name made him flush. He’s a weak, weak man, but he’s okay with that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   When they arrived, Wash was able to tell that Tucker was more than obviously trying to keep from slipping. He’s snappier and slightly more impatient than usual. Overall, it really wasn’t anything new, and could easily be explained by his lack of sleep and the fact that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>helped fight an entire war. </span>
  </em>
  <span>But no, Tucker’s never that simple, from what Wash has learned.</span>
</p><p>   The relief program took 17 hours, not 15. The two were exhausted. Palomo and Jensen were already passed the fuck out in the pelican on their way back. Tucker and Wash have their helmets off, the late hours catching up with both of them. They sat in seats beside each other, the low hum of the pelican slowly lulling the two to sleep. </p><p>
  <span>   Tucker slips into a dreamscape; dark at first, almost like a void. But his brain’s beginning to project flashes of his memories in distorted ways. They blurred together, meshing into something completely new and deformed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   But then a light appears. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   It’s not a soft light; it’s hard, with a clear and crisp outline. Yet, despite the transparency of the image, Tucker’s mind couldn't piece together exactly what it was seeing. He could make out a color; it was almost blue- maybe sapphire? Or possibly baby blue- </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>   No. It’s cobalt.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>The dream is in first person. He feels his body trying to move towards the small, flickering light, but it’s like each movement drives the figure further and further away.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Fuck, just wait for me-</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>Suddenly, the light’s at his shoulder; or, at least, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>thinks </span>
  </em>
  <span>it is, because his left eye is suddenly filled with </span>
  <em>
    <span>cobalt cobalt cobalt</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Tucker’s dream face turns in the direction of the light on his shoulder, only to be met with-</span>
</p><p>   Delta. He was met with Delta. </p><p>   “But you’re not- I thought you were blue? Or, a shade of it. I’m confused.” </p><p>
  <span>   Delta nods. “That is to be expected. And you are correct; I am not blue, or a shade of it. I am green. Or rather, shamrock green.” The voice from the green light seemed to echo, almost, like he was communicating with Tucker from the other side of a portal. Tucker tilts his head to the side, blinking slowly as his brain tries to process the change in color. “You appear to be distracted, Captain Tucker. You were… expecting someone else?” Delta questions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “I think? I don’t know. I don’t really know what to expect anymore, actually.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “As I said, that is to be expected. Your physical and emotional levels have substantially depleted, Captain Tucker. You should rest.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Ignoring Delta, Tucker asks, “What’s your name? It’s like- dude, it’s at the tip of my tongue-“ But Delta cuts him off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “You should rest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “I think- you have siblings, don’t you? I feel like I heard them when-“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “You should rest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Tucker suddenly remembers, bodily physically jolting in excitement at his realization. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Delta. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Your name is Delta.“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Then it all hit like a fucking freight train. A migraine formed almost instantaneously, Delta’s image flickering in the pain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “You are going to harm yourself. You should rest.” Deafened by pain, Tucker’s brain confuses itself in its attempt at resolving the problem.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Delta, it hurts, what the-“ But he can’t hear his own voice when he speaks. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This</span>
  </em>
  <span> voice is far more childish, and far more afraid. The migraine spreads and worsens, and Tucker can hear a multitude of people yelling distantly, like they were suffering the same fate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “You will rest now, Captain Tucker. I am sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Wait,” Tucker pleads, “You’re all that’s left-“</span>
</p><p>   “Incorrect. I am just a memory, Captain Tucker.” </p><p>
  <span>   Tucker grows desperate, and fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>begs</span>
  </em>
  <span>.“No, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please-“</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>“Captain Tucker, you must wake up. Your vitals are unstable, and I cannot hold your nightmares at bay for much longer. If you will not rest, then you must wake up. I’ve run the analysis in multitude. You have no other options.” A flash of familiar words runs across Tucker’s memory, but they’re too far and wide for Tucker to truly remember. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “What did you always say? You said it so fucking much that I got </span>
  <em>
    <span>sick </span>
  </em>
  <span>of it- you told me, and Caboose and Wash-“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Memory is the Key.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   The migraine </span>
  <em>
    <span>explodes</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and the screaming in the distance was suddenly in his fucking ears, ringing like death sirens. Tucker can feel his hands covering his ears, and suddenly he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>much </span>
  </em>
  <span>closer to the floor; on his knees, he thinks. The shamrock green blurs into a somehow painful cobalt. The voices are calling to him, he thinks, but he can’t make out what the fuck they’re saying-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   His eyes snap open, his heart beating faster than a jet and his breathing erratic. He can feel a cold sweat dripping over his scarred eyebrow slit and onto his sharp cheekbone. Tucker’s eyes focus themselves, centering on the freckled face in front of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Tucker! </span>
  </em>
  <span>Jesus- are you okay? Can you hear me?” Tucker only nods frantically, hands gripping the support bars of the pelican seats. Wash has his hands on Tucker’s shoulders, a detail Tucker only distantly notices. “Look at me, you need to control your breathing. You were having a nightmare- Tucker, </span>
  <em>
    <span>look at me!“</span>
  </em>
  <span> But the fool’s looking everywhere </span>
  <em>
    <span>but </span>
  </em>
  <span>Washington’s face, eyes darting in every direction in search of Delta. Then he feels gloved hands on each side of his face, forcing him to look at blue eyes and dirty blond hair in desperate need of a trim. Washington’s thumbs brush over the high points of Tucker’s cheekbones in a weird attempt to sooth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Anger is something Wash can handle. But fear? That’s a different story. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Breathe with me, okay? I need you to look at me and understand you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>awake</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
  <em>
    <span>“</span>
  </em>
  <span> Tucker’s slowly coming back down from the adrenaline, breathing in sync with Washington. Jensen and Palomo are on high alert, worry clear on their young faces as Jensen’s already unpacking a vital-check from their medkit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “I saw Delta.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Now he’s breathless again. He doesn’t even know </span>
  <em>
    <span>why </span>
  </em>
  <span>when he </span>
  <em>
    <span>just</span>
  </em>
  <span> fucking did breathing exercises. A flash of concern flies across Wash’s face, but he’s quick to steel himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Tucker, it was just a dream.” But Tucker’s already shaking his head from between Wash’s palms, hands coming up to grip Washington’s forearms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “No it fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>wasn’t. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Wash, he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>still here</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Jensen and Palomo glance at each other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “...Delta’s here? Or Church?” It was a question that Tucker wasn’t mentally prepared for. He closes his eyes, trying to take deep, steadying breaths as he tries not to stumble over his words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “I don’t- fuck, I don’t know, Wash. Delta felt real, but also didn’t? It was like a dream, but also- </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck! </span>
  </em>
  <span>My fucking head hurts.” He sighs frustratingly, then feels a light static pulse run over his body. Jensen’s taking his vitals, he realizes. “...He said memory was the key. Then I just kinda.. exploded, I guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “His vitals are stable, but he definitely needs a check-up from Grey.”</span>
</p><p><span>   Tucker </span><em><span>immediately</span></em><span> protests. “Oh </span><em><span>fuck that</span></em><span>!</span> <span>She’ll put a fucking chip in my brain or something!” Wash lets out a small sigh of relief, pulling his hands away from Tucker’s face. He sits back beside Tucker, locking the stability bars over his chest.</span></p><p>
  <span>    “We should be home in just under an hour, Tucker. Then we’ll get you checked out. Try resting until then, okay?” Tucker only nods as Palomo and Jensen take back their seats across from them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   He chooses not to rest the way home.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Kudos and comments motivate me! </p><p>Also, this chapter kinda hurt to write ngl-</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Locus finally starts asking questions.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>AY! This chapter is a little longer than the last few. not gonna lie they’re probably going to grow longer with each post lmao. Hope this chapter is good for y’all!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>   The first two weeks were </span>
  <em>
    <span>rough. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>   Locus thought if he kept his head down and his voice quiet, he'd go largely unnoticed. However, even with a new set of armor, people still whispered amongst themselves. Not that he was expecting anything less, far from it. He just assumed he was better at hiding than he really is without his active camouflage. But hey, at least they aren’t trying to </span>
  <em>
    <span>kill </span>
  </em>
  <span>him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   But the shit-talking isn’t what got to Locus; it was the fear he saw flash across people’s features when he walked by or spoke. He never realized how sickening that felt, knowing he could scare off any chances of a normal conversation just by looking at somebody. Locus did what he could to lessen that by simply avoiding conversation outside the Reds and Blues all together. Which, even then, was pretty limited already. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   In the last two weeks, he’s spoken to Grif and Washington the most. Wash wasn’t a surprise, but Grif definitely was. He was shockingly great at helping Locus feel human again. Grif was like a calm, quiet lake in the middle of a forest, devoid of any kind of civilization. Ironically, that’s why Grif felt so grounding to talk to when Locus wanted to feel human again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Grif didn’t really know how to judge others. Didn’t give a shit enough to do so, really. So, in turn, he’s attached himself to Locus in a bizarre way that leftLocus almost grateful. They didn’t talk frequently, but when they did, it was for </span>
  <em>
    <span>hours. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>   Locus also helped with the relief programs; helping crippled colonies get the food packages they need and the shelter they deserve. Thankfully, the colonies had been largely cut-off from the outside world technologically, so they had no godly idea who Locus even was. His issues stemmed from other </span>
  <em>
    <span>soldiers, </span>
  </em>
  <span>not civilians. </span>
</p><p>   Wash did his best to reassure him, but the blond could only do so much. But as the weeks went by, Locus found himself around Wash more and more. If he wasn’t alone, he was with Agent Washington. </p><p>
  <span>   But tonight, he was with </span>
  <em>
    <span>everyone. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>   They stood in a common-area, much like a hangout space outside when nobody had missions to go on or training to do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   There’s always a new debate between the Reds and Blues, almost daily. Locus took a while to adjust to that bizarre habit of theirs, but today’s debate mentally sent him through a fucking window.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Absolutely not, he’s definitely a Blue. Blues are all broody and depressed.” Simmons elbows Grif for his insensitive comment, but couldn’t help but silently agree. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “What! No way, he’s totally a Red. I can </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel </span>
  </em>
  <span>it!” Donut’s beaming, and Locus doesn’t even know why it’s a debate to begin with. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “You argue like red and blue still matter-“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Old habits die hard, Locus.” Sarge smirks, knowing damn well over half the group agreed with that statement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   The only few who were not present were Washington (in the medbay for recent intense muscle aches) and Tucker, who was out on a relief program with Palomo and Jensen. But when he got back, Grif and Donut were all over him about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Lately, the group seemed to gravitate towards Tucker for decision-making when Wash or Carolina weren’t around. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “What?” He’s taking off his helmet, trying to process the question at hand. His exhaustion was evident, a fact Grif and Donut seemed to ignore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   From what Tucker understands, Sarge, Donut and Carolina think he’s a Red, but the rest see him as a Blue. Tucker’s left eye twitches before he brushes past Donut and Grif. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “He’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>either. </span>
  </em>
  <span>But if you wanna put a fucking label on it, he’s gonna have to be a Red because I’m sure as </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck </span>
  </em>
  <span>not going to have a roster with his name on it under our label.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   And- okay, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fair. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Locus knew he had that coming, which is why it didn’t bother him </span>
  <em>
    <span>too </span>
  </em>
  <span>much. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   So, it was decided. Locus was officially a Red, even if his personality and personal issues called for him to be a “dirty Blue”, as Sarge often put it. But a cold feeling in his gut told him he didn’t fucking deserve something so… </span>
  <em>
    <span>personal </span>
  </em>
  <span>from the Reds and Blues. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   While Simmons and Sarge were uneasy at first, they’ve slowly adjusted. It wasn’t perfect; many of the Reds and Blues jumped or flinched when they saw Locus come up from behind them, Simmons specifically. But he knew damn well it’d take months, maybe even a few years before that ceased. And he was okay with that. More than okay, because he has a place to live and an opportunity to help those he indirectly hurt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Wash was quick to follow from behind Tucker, several steps behind him with his helmet off and running a hand through strands of blond hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Typical Blue attitude.” Grif rolls his eyes, arms crossing his chest. “You know, he’s been bitchier lately.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Wash stopped short, shooting Grif a harsh glare. “He just got out of the medbay, Grif.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “What? Were you guys attacked?” Carolina’s the first to show concern, pushing past the rest of the group. But Wash only shakes his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “No, but on the way back he had a psychological nightmare. Grey was checking up on him.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   That… didn’t make her feel any better. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “So he’s having bad dreams, so what? We all get them. Like… </span>
  <em>
    <span>all </span>
  </em>
  <span>of us.” Grif’s got his hand on his hip, his quick dismissal an obvious deflection of any concern.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “This was different, Grif-“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “How?” Locus steps in this time, and something about his tone tips Wash that Locus probably has an idea of </span>
  <em>
    <span>how. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>   Wash glances between everyone in the group; Caboose is sitting on a crate, eyebrow raised in confusion while Simmons is leaned back against a wall, Grif close by.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “He said he saw Delta.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “He saw </span>
  <em>
    <span>what-“ </span>
  </em>
  <span>Carolina’s voice is sharp, her body tense and locking into fight-or-flight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Delta. I know, it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>impossible. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I told him it was just a dream. But he just… he seemed sure of himself. He also thinks he saw Ch-“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>fucking say what I think you’re gonna say,” Grif’s standing up from his position beside Simmons, eyebrows knit tight in a sharp scowl. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “I’m not saying </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He just told me what he thought he saw, okay? I’m only half convinced. Grey looked at him, and her first diagnostic was PTSD. Which, let’s be honest here, we </span>
  <em>
    <span>all </span>
  </em>
  <span>have to some degree at this point.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   But that wasn’t enough to stop the soft, hopeful voice over by the crates.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “...he saw Church?” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Oh hell…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>   “No, Caboose, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>dreamt </span>
  </em>
  <span>he saw him. Okay?” Grif’s voice is gentler, but still firm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   But Wash knew better than to expect Caboose’s hope to dwindle that easily, and Locus is starting to understand Caboose a little more than he did before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   The night was late, so Carolina was quick to dismiss everybody to sleep save for Washington. She scans her best friend’s face, taking in the worry and exhaustion in Wash’s tired, scarred features.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Are you okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Washington nods, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, just worried about him, that’s all.” He sits on a crate, the very same Simmons had previously occupied. “He’s not sleeping, Carolina. It’s only been a few days since we won, so I should’ve expected this. But I just... don’t know how to help-“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “We can’t always do anything to help, Wash.” She sits on the crate beside him, a gloved hand on his shoulder. “All we can really do is be there when he needs us. You can’t lose yourself trying to do something impossible. But you’re right, I’m worried too. I noticed his sleeping issues. He’s snappier than usual, and he’s… pretty aggressive towards Locus. This morning he damn near ripped his head off. I don’t think Tucker understands that if Locus really wanted to, he could do some </span>
  <em>
    <span>serious </span>
  </em>
  <span>damage to Tucker.” She sighs, crossing her arms over her chest. “He’s trying to get a reaction out of Locus, I think. And Locus won’t give in.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Washington nods. “I think he’s just mourning. We’re all kinda taking it differently. I’m numb, but I know it’ll hit later. Epsilon and I went through </span>
  <em>
    <span>a lot </span>
  </em>
  <span>together.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Carolina completely understands. Church was the last person to witness the Director alongside Carolina. That’s something she’ll </span>
  <em>
    <span>never </span>
  </em>
  <span>forget. Her way of coping was to focus her attention on the relief programs and sparring. She preferred to take her mind off the things that tormented her, until she went to bed at least.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “I get that, I really do. But I can’t imagine what it’s like for Tucker and Caboose. They knew Church longer than any of us.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Tucker used to not give a </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit </span>
  </em>
  <span>about what happened to anyone, including Church. When I was Recovery One, I could tell there was some kind of spark of leadership there. And then when we crashed on Chorus, it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>obvious he had something. But he chose to ignore it. He ignored everything. But now…” he sighs, closing his eyes. “I think I need sleep. Caboose is probably confused, too.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Sleep, Wash. I’ll see you in the morning, okay? You need some rest. And make sure Tucker rests, too.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Wash only nodded before bidding Carolina goodnight. But on Wash’s way back, he had the luck of running into Locus in the hallways, just a few feet from the door of Washington’s shared room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Locus,” Wash couldn’t help but smile some, tilting his head in curiosity. “I thought you already headed back to your quarters?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “I wanted to ask you a few questions.” He’s sporting a hard stare unintentionally, but Wash can only see the solid metal of his helmet, so he’s quick to agree. Locus wasn’t someone to prod and ask questions, and the fact that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>worries him more than it should. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Wash knew Tucker was already back in their room, so he suggested they talk in Locus’ quarters. He quickly backtracks by giving him an opportunity to decline, offering a merciful </span>
  <em>
    <span>or the mess hall, if you want.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>   A thick lump forms in Locus’ throat, blocking any words that try to escape. He swallows silently, before agreeing to speak in the mess hall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   An eerie memory of gazing upon Maine while in the mess hall of the MOI made a brief presence at the front of Washington’s brain, but he’s quick to dismiss it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   When they reach the mess hall, it’s vastly devoid of others, much to Locus’ relief. He sits at a silver bench across from Washington, trying to find the words he wants to start off with. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “I was curious about the A.I construct you and your sim troopers had possession of. He seemed… important.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   The term </span>
  <em>
    <span>A.I construct </span>
  </em>
  <span>didn’t sit right with Wash, but he couldn’t blame Locus, not when the merc hadn’t spent more than three seconds with the team simply to </span>
  <em>
    <span>kill </span>
  </em>
  <span>them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “What about Church?” He was careful not to blatantly call out Locus’ error, but rather gently nudge him in the right direction. The last fucking thing Wash wanted was for </span>
  <em>
    <span>AI Construct </span>
  </em>
  <span>to slip around Tucker or Caboose. He has a </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>vivid memory of Valhalla, and he didn’t want to make the same mistake twice.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>And Tucker isn’t exactly stable right now, anyway.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>   “I wanted to know what importance he held to all of you. I feel he’s… connected to the issues Captain Tucker has with me.”</p><p>
  <span>   “O-oh… Well. Caboose could probably answer that question better than I could. The Reds and Blues knew him differently than I did.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Locus tilted his head, raising an eyebrow from behind his helmet. “Your records show Epsilon was assigned to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Oh yeah. He read my file. And… everyone else's. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Well- </span>
  <em>
    <span>yeah. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I know you read my files-“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Several times.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “...</span>
  <em>
    <span>right. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Well, Epsilon kinda… </span>
  <em>
    <span>killed himself </span>
  </em>
  <span>in my head. Tried to, at least. I-it’s a sensitive subject for me. My point is, we both only associated each other with pain. I didn’t get to know Church, not like the others. But Caboose and Tucker? He was a big deal to them. He was their team leader back in Bloodgulch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Locus nodded. “Right, after Florida died.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Oh. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Wash hadn't heard that name in </span>
  <em>
    <span>years. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Uh, yeah. After he died. Shit didn’t get serious until after Church found out he was the Alpha, though. That’s probably when it got… </span>
  <em>
    <span>rough.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>   “Weren’t you Recovery One at the time?”</p><p>   Wash visibly stiffens, but nods. “How much of my info have you read?”</p><p>
  <span>   “All of it. Including anything classified.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Wait- do you know my name?” Wash has his helmet off, displaying every synonym there was for </span>
  <em>
    <span>shocked. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>   “And your kill list, date of birth, birthplace, as well as-“</p><p>   “Okay- I get it. That’s kinda weird, man-“</p><p>
  <span>   “It was required when we were-“ he stops, and Wash already knew where that was gonna go anyway, so he showed Locus some mercy by proceeding the former conversation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Anyway, after the Alpha was erased, Caboose was dead set on getting Church back. And, by some untold fuckin’ forces, he actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>kinda </span>
  </em>
  <span>did it. So, we had Epsilon, which just so happened to be the Alpha’s memories.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “What of Captain Tucker?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “They were best friends, I’m pretty sure. Tucker… he really cared about Church. The two just didn’t know how to communicate that. It was an unspoken rule, really.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>  “What was that rule?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Wash is suddenly looking off to the side with the look of disdain on his face. One arm is resting on the table surface while the other holds up the side of Washington’s face by the palm of his hand. He takes a deep breath before proceeding.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>   “That Tucker was Church’s, and Church was Tucker’s.” </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Kudos and comments help me feed my 7 children of Canadian descent.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>   After brushing passed Donut and Grif, Tucker headed straight for his shared room. Grey told him he needed to report </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything </span>
  </em>
  <span>abnormal, no matter what the hell it is. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   He and Wash had gone to the medbay when they reached Chorus, and it was a lengthy, uncomfortable conversation for everybody. Tucker </span>
  <em>
    <span>insisted </span>
  </em>
  <span>he knew what he saw, but Grey was more than skeptical. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Church was dead, and that won’t change. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   But the vision of Delta still unsettled Tucker. It felt like a fucking punch in the gut from the Universe; a dangle of false hope in his face, begging to be snatched. It wasn’t something Tucker could handle, and he knew damn well Caboose wouldn’t be able to, either. So when he got back to his room, Caboose out with the rest of the group and Locus, Tucker decided to try and sleep it off. He removed his armor, struggling but successfully removing his Kevlar suit, and swapping into black briefs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   But the silence in his room proved to be a big problem. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   With silence comes time, and with time comes </span>
  <em>
    <span>overthinking. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Tucker laid on his back, the clock reading roughly reading eleven at night in bright red light. He huffs, bringing his hands up to rub his eyes with the heels of his palms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Rather than sleeping, Tucker’s in overdrive. He sees Delta’s helmet so fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>clearly </span>
  </em>
  <span>and the pain of the migraine lingered like a phantom. Grey had given him some aspirin for the headache, dulling it to a gentle squeeze of pain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   What failed to be visually clear, however, was the cobalt light. He knew; he </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew </span>
  </em>
  <span>what that light was, but he </span>
  <em>
    <span>hated </span>
  </em>
  <span>that it never focused. The memory of Church practically </span>
  <em>
    <span>exploding </span>
  </em>
  <span>in the Meta suit was still so fucking fresh, and the more Tucker thought about it the more he wanted to curl in on himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   When Tucker realized Church was gone, </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>gone, Tucker had thrown his fist to the nearest wall, punching right through it and denting thick metal. He’d been so fucking angry with himself, like it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>fault Church didn’t make it… and consoling Caboose after it happened was one of the most difficult things Tucker’s ever had to emotionally do in his life. He remembers apologizing to Caboose, over and over </span>
  <em>
    <span>and over </span>
  </em>
  <span>again against Caboose war in their tight hug. He can remember Caboose hugging him so fucking tight that Tucker could still feel it hours later, after he’d gone to Grey to get analyzed for injuries. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   The fight had been so fast, too- like if he blinked, Tucker would’ve missed it all. Oddly, what stuck out the most for him was Grif; he’d never seen him so dead-set on </span>
  <em>
    <span>doing something. </span>
  </em>
  <span>But if he thinks hard enough, he also remembers the power he felt surging through his very veins in that damned suit. It was like a drug, almost, having that much power. And Church supplied all the energy Tucker needed to run the suit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Church gave them everything he had left in him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Tucker feels his chest tighten. He tries taking deep breaths, but it only makes his breathing stutter. The memory of Church’s death from within Tucker’s neural implants worsened his headache, forcing his eyes to shut tightly in pain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Are you okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Tucker’s eyes fly open; he hadn’t even processed the door to his room opening. The light from the hallway was almost blinding, with Caboose’s massive frame only allowing slivers of it to slip past him. He has his helmet off, brown hair a floppy mess across his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Yeah, dude. I’m okay.” Caboose steps into their shared room, taking off his shoulder pads. He’s struggling though, the latches not giving in because he’s pulling them in the wrong direction. Tucker smiles softly to himself, shaking his head before standing up and padding over to Caboose. He helps Caboose out of his armor, who smiles in thanks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Tucker?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Mm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Did you see him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Tucker flinches, but let’s out a heavy sigh. He knew this conversation would come up, he just… really didn’t have the energy to have it now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “I dreamt about him, Caboose. That’s all.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>And will for the rest of my fucking life. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>   “I dream about him too.” Tucker perks up, raising an eyebrow at Caboose’s confession. Caboose is settling in his own bunk, wide back against the silver wall of their room. He’s smiling, but it’s the saddest fucking thing Tucker’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever </span>
  </em>
  <span>seen on Caboose’s freckled face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Tucker swallows. “Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Caboose nods. “Yeah. He’d be mad if he knew that, though, so don’t tell him.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   That’s… that’s probably what did it for Tucker. He could feel hot tears form at the corner of his eyes, and he hates how goddamn broken he is over all of this. How broken </span>
  <em>
    <span>all </span>
  </em>
  <span>of them are. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Hey. I also dreamt of Delta.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Did he say the thing again? I liked it when he said that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Tucker swallowed, but nodded. “Yeah, buddy. He said the thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Caboose smiled, sliding down on his bed to lay on his side. He’s got his blanket up to his chin, the smile never leaving his face. Caboose lets out a heavy yawn, then tells Tucker </span>
  <em>
    <span>goodnight</span>
  </em>
  <span>, asleep before Tucker could even form a response. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Then he’s alone again, in the silence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Tucker glances at Wash’s empty bed, eyebrows furrowing at the lack of ex-Freelancer. Wash’s insomnia was a damn problem, but Tucker did what he could to help. The fact that it was already 11:43 and Wash wasn’t back in their room yet was a concern. While Wash rarely stayed in their room after coming in to sleep, he was never </span>
  <em>
    <span>late </span>
  </em>
  <span>coming to bed. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>He’s an old man, he’s always here by 9-</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>   He sighs, pulling a holo-pad from the drawer beside him. It’s small, maybe the size of an iPhone 4. He types out a quick message to Washington before shutting off the holo-pad and returning it to the drawer without waiting for a response. Tucker rubs his eyes, exhaustion heavily pulling him to the mattress. Tucker’s asleep before he ever receives a response.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>U coming to bed?</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Wash, Tucker and Locus go on a little adventure together.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hayabusa armor is mentioned in this chapter!! Before reading, please look that up! I know many rvb fans didn’t play halo, and Hayabusa armor was only released in halo 3 for a certain set of reasons. So some elements may sound super weird to those who don’t know what Hayabusa armor is.</p><p>Anyway, please enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>   “I- </span>
  <em>
    <span>what?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>   Locus is sitting across from Washington, his poor brain trying to process the words coming from Wash’s mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Washington raises an eyebrow. “Tucker and Church, they were… something. Not officially, but it was there. Best friends, but… also more? I don’t know, Locus. It was complicated.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “I would assume, considering one was a computer.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Was that- did Locus make a joke?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>   “That didn’t really matter to them. Tucker knew Church before the two even knew about Freelancer.” Wash shakes his head, chewing on his lip as he mulls over his next choice of words. “They had something unique. Something I never got the chance to understand.” Washington looks back up at Locus, only to be met with metal. “Can I ask </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>something, now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Locus is taken aback, head moving backwards a few inches. But he nods, his anxiety spiking in anticipation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “What were you planning to do, before we asked you to join the team?”</span>
</p><p>   Locus did everything he could to keep from fidgeting. He looks at the table, then the wall, then finally back at Washington. “I don’t know. Travel, I guess. Find people who need help, and do what I can. Why?” </p><p>
  <span>   Before Wash can answer, he gets a message on his holo-pad. He pulls it from his pocket, sees it’s from Tucker, then smiles to himself before looking back at Locus. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Hey, Tucker and I are going on a mission tomorrow. Not a relief program, it’s a routing mission. We’re looking for new trade routes that used to be blocked off by the Pirates, and there’s a hidden colony that needs our help. It’s largely uncharted. Come with us?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “That is a </span>
  <em>
    <span>terrible </span>
  </em>
  <span>idea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   And Wash </span>
  <em>
    <span>snorts</span>
  </em>
  <span>, a smile on his face. “It won’t be that bad. C’mon, it’ll be good for us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Don’t you and Captain Tucker </span>
  <em>
    <span>always </span>
  </em>
  <span>go on missions together?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Well- </span>
  <em>
    <span>yeah, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but that doesn’t just exclude others.” He’s flushing, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows </span>
  </em>
  <span>he is-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “I think Tucker would rather put a knife to my chest than let me come along.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “I’ll talk to him tonight. I’m sure it’ll be fine. Besides, it’ll be a good way for you two to… I dunno, figure stuff out. It’ll be a quiet mission, too.” Wash is offering him a hopeful look, and Locus is having the damndest time trying to discourage that. He’s silent for a moment, mulling over the idea and trying to find every possible reason as to why he </span>
  <em>
    <span>shouldn’t. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>   There were </span>
  <em>
    <span>several </span>
  </em>
  <span>reasons, actually. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>   “Okay. When do we leave?”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>   •••<br/><br/></p><p>
  <span>   Washington was silent coming back into his shared quarters, keeping an eye on Caboose as he passed. He glances at his bunk, the darkness of the room obscuring his view of Tucker’s half of their shared bunk bed. The light from the hallway before the door slid shut was enough to stir Tucker awake, his eyes fluttering open. Washington has his back to their bed, peeling off his armor as quietly as he could after he shuts the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Tucker pads over to the blond, feet cold against the metal of their floor. He’s rubbing his eye as he walks, then bumps his forehead between Wash’s shoulder blades. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Sorry, did I wake you?”</span>
</p><p>   “Mm.” Tucker reaches up, pulling the Kevlar zipper down to the small of Washington’s back. </p><p>
  <span>   “You’re back late.” Tucker’s hands are warm, and they’re the only damn things Washington’s focused on. Even better, Tucker’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>sleepy. </span>
  </em>
  <span>A sleepy Tucker is almost like a lightly buzzed Tucker, who says and does shit that has warmth pooling deep in Wash’s core.</span>
</p><p>   “Yeah, sorry about that, I was talking to-“ he cuts himself off with a hitch to his breath, those same hands moving underneath the Kevlar suit until Tucker’s all the way to Wash’s abdomen. </p><p>
  <span>   “Hm?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Tucker, hey, don’t-“ he’s not emotionally stable enough; not now, at least. And he </span>
  <em>
    <span>hated </span>
  </em>
  <span>cutting this short, but he needed to bring up Locus before Washington’s weak little heart kept him from doing so. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   They weren’t an item, or anything official. And no, they’ve never even </span>
  <em>
    <span>talked </span>
  </em>
  <span>about what they mean to each other.Tucker had always had a strange push-and-pull relationship with Washington, and it was something Wash truly couldn’t shake off. But with the war and the loss of Church, Washington has decided to keep his thoughts to himself. He knew it wasn’t the time or place, and probably never would be. Washington wasn’t even sure if Tucker felt the same, but it was damn hard to tell when he’s got his hands all over him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Tucker’s not registering any words. He’s got his cheek pressed to Wash’s back, letting out a soft, tired hum. “You’re warm, dude.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “I need to ask you something.” Wash looks over his shoulder to steal a glance at Tucker, but regrets it </span>
  <em>
    <span>deeply. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>   Brown eyes are looking up tiredly, half his face squished and soft against Wash’s own skin. He’s stupidly pretty, but also equally as exhausted. While yes, he’s pretty, at the same time Washington could see the obvious lack of sleep Tucker’s had. His eyes are a little red and the deep circles beneath his eyes have only grown worse. To say the least, Tucker looked like absolute </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>   “What is it?” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>This is gonna be a real mood killer-</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>   “I sorta… asked Locus if he wanted to go with us tomorrow. I wanted to ask if you were okay with that?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Tucker goes still before he removes himself from Wash’s back all together. His warmth is replaced by the chill of their room, chills speeding through Wash’s spine. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Wait- I’m sorry-</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>   “I guess.” The distaste is evident in his soft tone. Washington turns around, easily slipping his hand to Tucker’s dark wrist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Hey, it’ll be good for us. I promise you won’t even know he’s there.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Tucker glances at his held wrist before looking back up at blue eyes, shaded completely from the darkness of their room. Soft mutters of irritation leave his lips before he shakes his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Okay, fine. Just- will you come to bed, now?” Now Tucker’s holding Wash’s wrist, tugging him lightly. The blond’s eyes strike with shock, but once Tucker lets go of his wrist and slips into bed in the bottom bunk, Washington realizes he got too damn ahead of himself and misread what Tucker asked of him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>   He only nods, and climbs to the top of their bunk. </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>   •••</p><p>
  <span>   Locus was so fucking high-strung he made Carolina look like a weed-dealer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   The last several weeks, the people of Chorus have slowly realized that Locus </span>
  <em>
    <span>won’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>attack them, and they’ve taken complete advantage of that. The insults and verbal abuse had spiked the last week alone. Whispers and gossip were always on the rise, as well as bizarre rumors (someone in the mess hall claimed Locus slept with Grif, and he had to take a good few days to unpack that one, as well as avoid Simmons at all costs).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   The morning he walked to the hanger to meet Wash and Tucker for their routing mission was no different. At first, the verbal abuse was entirely expected and it didn’t affect him in any way. But as he’s grown closer to the Reds and Blues, the words have slowly begun to cut deep into his being. Chorus wasn’t really what he’d call home, but the gang was changing that for him. Locus was conflicted, and felt more and more out of place every day while also feeling </span>
  <em>
    <span>in place </span>
  </em>
  <span>for the very first time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   But the longer he stayed, the more he felt he shouldn’t. Kimball didn’t trust him, either, and she only let him go anywhere in the city if he’s with at least two of the Reds or Blues. The distrust was earned, he knows this. He just feels like he would have earned the trust from the people of Chorus if he had left, </span>
  <em>
    <span>then </span>
  </em>
  <span>came back. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Which was my initial idea-</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>  When he arrives, Tucker’s leaning over a crate, elbows on the surface and one leg cocked in a way that says </span>
  <em>
    <span>I want to get fucked tonight but I don’t wanna say it outloud. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Locus was immune to his bizarre posing by now, however. Washington on the other hand was standing up straight at the other side of the crate, holo-map in hand like he’s explaining something to Tucker (who looks bored out of his fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>mind.</span>
  </em>
  <span>)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Locus pops into Tucker’s peripheral. Brown eyes meet gun-metal, and then Tucker’s standing up properly with arms crossing his chest. Wash notices his change of pose, so he looks up and actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>smiles </span>
  </em>
  <span>when he sees Locus.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Glad you could join us.” He lowers the holo-pad, but let’s go when he feels Tucker gently taking it from his gloved hands. Tucker walks into the open pelican, scrolling through the holo-pad as he walks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Sorry if I interrupted something-“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Wash shakes his head dismissively. “You weren’t, don’t worry about it. You ready to go?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Locus glances at Tucker from behind his helmet, but quickly back to Wash. He only offers a curt nod, and follows the blond into the pelican. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   The ride was… </span>
  <em>
    <span>tense. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Tucker didn’t make it easy, and Locus’ naturally quiet demeanor didn’t help. Wash, bless him, did what he could to keep it as mediated as possible. </span>
</p><p>   But the tense air actually dissolved when the three spotted their incoming route. The entire place was iced over, with beautiful ice caves colored with dozens of shades of blues and whites and glittering snow. But unlike Fort Briggs, this place was desolate of any evidence of colonies or buildings in general. </p><p>
  <span>   “Wash, I thought there was supposed to be a colony here?” Tucker’s looking at Wash with an eyebrow raised, but it goes unnoticed due to his helmet covering his expression. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Well, we were blocked off from this place for a while. Who knows what’s actually here-“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “There </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>a colony. It’s not where you think, though.” Locus interjects. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “You know this place?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Locus nods. “We- </span>
  <em>
    <span>they, </span>
  </em>
  <span>blocked it off because it’s more dangerous than it looks. They were unable to take this colony like they did the others.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Tucker glares from behind his visor, crossing one leg over the other as he sits. “Then where’s the colony? This is all snow and ice.” </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>  “Underground.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>•••</p><p>
  <span>   They were </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>thrilled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   The three trekked through the ice tunnels, with Locus up front (by Tucker’s request). Locus was the only one of the three with any idea of what they should expect, so he was naturally elected to take the lead. The ice walls echoed any form of sound, bouncing it off the walls in a bizarre, eerie way that would make Tucker shiver. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “The colony is more like a tribe. You must use a quiet tone, and keep your weapons sheathed when we find them.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Think you can handle that second one?” Wash glares sharply at Tucker for the comment, but Locus ignores it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “There’s also several tunnels here. Hundreds, even. And our tracking equipment is largely jammed this deep underground. It’s easy to get lost, which is a big reason why the pirates could never make it through. And </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>fire your weapon. The sound will bounce off endlessly. It’s like an alarm system for these people.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “You sure spent a lot of time trying to infiltrate this pla-“ Tucker gets a jab to the shoulder from the blond, Tucker turning his head to scowl from behind his visor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “I was not the one sent to take over this place. We merely sent grunts. I only know what to expect because they had thorough reports.” Locus glances over his shoulder, and Tucker can damn near </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel </span>
  </em>
  <span>Locus’ eyes boring into his forehead from behind that helmet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   An hour goes by, and Tucker’s growing increasingly bored; which means those around him were about to get </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>annoyed, </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>fast. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “We’ve been walking in circles-“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “We have </span>
  <em>
    <span>not-“</span>
  </em>
  <span> Locus is quick to snap back, looking over his shoulder for effect.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “We should be there in, what, an hour? We’ll make it, Tucker. Don’t be a baby.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Dude I’m gonna fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>die </span>
  </em>
  <span>before that-“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Unfortunate.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>   It slips before Wash can stop it; he </span>
  <em>
    <span>snorts, </span>
  </em>
  <span>a stupid smile on his face and even if Tucker can’t see it, he can </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel </span>
  </em>
  <span>it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Did you just- I hope you get lost in these fucking tunnels-“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Captain Tucker, if </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>get lost, then </span>
  <em>
    <span>you’re </span>
  </em>
  <span>lost.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Tucker’s silent for a moment, gears turning in his head ridiculously slowly because he’s a fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>himbo </span>
  </em>
  <span>and doesn’t know it yet. </span>
</p><p>   “Hey, Wash? How much could I pay you to stab him?”</p><p>
  <span>   “You don’t wanna do it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Last time I stabbed somebody, the dude was the size of a bear and tried throwing me off a fucking cliff after I did it. I think you can take this one.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “I doubt Agent Washington would do it, he would have better use for your carcass than mine. Score himself points.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Without hesitating, Tucker takes the bait. “What? How?”</span>
</p><p>   “The only good blue is a dead blue.” </p><p>
  <span>    Their jaws </span>
  <em>
    <span>drop</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Dude, you did not-“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Underneath the helmet, Locus is smiling- </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>smiling. And he doesn’t remember the last time he did something so trivial. It feels wrong, like it shouldn’t even </span>
  <em>
    <span>be there</span>
  </em>
  <span> on his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   But it was also so fucking refreshing.</span>
</p><p>   Tucker’s squawking behind him in disbelief with Wash’s laughter filling the gaps. Their echos bounce off the walls, creating a mess of noise. </p><p>
  <span>   Drowning out the noise of an ambush. </span>
</p><p>   Time feels like it’s slowing when it happens; Tucker’s on the ground, face to the icy floor with Washington against a wall. Locus goes untouched, but has several weapons pointed in his direction. </p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>This can’t be the colony-</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>   “What the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck, </span>
  </em>
  <span>we’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>friendlies</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” Tucker has his arms pinned to his back, a heavier soldier keeping her knee to Tucker’s lower back. Wash has an even bigger soldier using his weight to keep Wash down, forcing his body into submission. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   But Tucker’s comment goes unnoticed. A man in black Hayabusa armor is the only soldier without an aimed weapon, standing up to a mere five feet and six inches. Despite his small stature, it was clear he was in charge of the group. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “You’ll be even friendlier if you hand over this one here.” The person in Hayabusa armor clearly had some sort of voice filter, the voice coming out statically. A sword is pulled from his back, the blade pointed to Locus’ chin. “You pull out your weapon, and we’ll kill these two without a second thought.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Take him, we don’t fuckin’ want him.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Tucker!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Okay, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>don’t want him. Which should be enough reason to kill him.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Locus made no comment, choosing to evaluate his enemy. The visor is what threw him off; sharp, with an orange tint to it. The soldier’s armor wasn’t a standard “steel black”, it was almost like a void. The only accents Locus could see were the white highlights at the top of the helmet, as well as the layered shoulder pads. </span>
</p><p>   “Hayabusa armor has been out of the UNSC production line for years, how did you get a hold of that kind of equipment? Much less a Hayabusa set with an alternate visor than what it came with? They weren’t released for visor adaptation-“</p><p>
  <span>   “You spent your entire time on Chorus blackmarketing alien tech that shouldn’t even exist, and you’re worried about a </span>
  <em>
    <span>helmet</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Tucker, if you don’t shut your mouth </span>
  <em>
    <span>right now-</span>
  </em>
  <span>“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “What’re you gonna do, Wash? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Make me?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>   “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Tucker I swear to god-“</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>They’re voices are suddenly silent. A small, targeting EMP drops as a soft purple light; it was a radio damager, shutting off Wash’s and Tucker’s helmets. Their visors go dark, voices trapped and muffled in their helmets. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “That’s- those were only released </span>
  <em>
    <span>once-“</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>   “You are in no position to ask questions.” He tips the blade, the tip dangerously close to Locus’ throat. </span>
</p><p>   “...Your visor. I’ve seen it. I think I know who you are-“</p><p>
  <span>   “And I know who </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>are.” He punctuates his point by pressing his sword further, cutting the seam of the Kevlar at Locus’ neck. “We may have been cut off from society because of your troops, but we’re well aware of who you and your associate are.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “My </span>
  <em>
    <span>associate </span>
  </em>
  <span>is dead. I do not operate with those people anymore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “So you’ve joined the “good guys”, have you? For what? Redemption? A second chance? People like you don’t change. You may have Chorus fooled, but not me.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   And who is Locus to argue that? He helped an organization steal their resources and even in an attempt to eradicate the entire population. But at the same time, Locus was here for a </span>
  <em>
    <span>reason. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>   “We’re here to negotiate trade routes… we want to help you reconnect with the other colonies. We’re not here for a fight.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Not </span>
  <em>
    <span>yet. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I’ll be damned if I let you step foot into my colony. We want nothing to do with your trade routes, we’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine </span>
  </em>
  <span>as we are.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Tucker breaks loose of the women pinning him, hands shooting up to remove his now useless helmet. It clatters for the floor awkwardly before he’s aggressively maneuvered and crushed beneath the weight of the woman’s armor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Dude, we know this part of the planet is running low on supplies. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Especially </span>
  </em>
  <span>those in the north. We’ve been doing relief programs to help with that! The pirates are gone, and so is Hargrove. It’s just us, now- </span>
  <em>
    <span>ow, lay off you fuck!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>   The man in Hayabusa looks in Tucker’s direction, never moving his sword from Locus’ throat. “We appreciate what you’ve done for our planet. Truly, we are. But we will not work alongside your soldiers if you’re associated with </span>
  <em>
    <span>this one.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Dude, I hate him too! See? We already have so much in common. Just call of your crazy fucking guards, and we’ll talk-“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   And Washington is so </span>
  <em>
    <span>frustrated, </span>
  </em>
  <span>because </span>
  <em>
    <span>he </span>
  </em>
  <span>should do the talking, not Tucker. But the man behind him gave him no window to break loose and take off his helmet so he could be heard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “I can let you two go, but he stays </span>
  <em>
    <span>here.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>   Tucker sighs in frustration. The only goddamn reason he’s even trying to keep Locus alive is because he knows Washington wants to, and he’d be damned if he didn’t give the blond what he wanted any time he fucking wanted it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Lemme rephrase myself; </span>
  <em>
    <span>we want him alive. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He’s a fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>asshole, </span>
  </em>
  <span>I totally get that. But blondie over there wants him </span>
  <em>
    <span>breathing. </span>
  </em>
  <span>And not </span>
  <em>
    <span>kinda </span>
  </em>
  <span>breathing; actually fuckin’ breathing like he is right now. I’ll have Wash here babysit him while we talk, okay? Or have your guards babysit him, I don’t care! We won’t let him go anywhere, we promise. Just- put down that sick sword of yours, and we’ll figure this shit out.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Color Wash and Locus impressed, because the man in Hayabusa actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>lowered </span>
  </em>
  <span>his sword. He taps a button on his thigh, which reactivates Wash and Tucker’s helmets. He performs what looks to be sign language to his two guards to back off; they release the two, Wash grunting as he pulls back from the wall and Tucker muttering insults under his breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   An orange visor looks threateningly to Locus, narrowed and scowling. “You stay in my line of sight, understood?” Locus only nods in agreement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   The remaining soldiers file out, with the man in Hayabusa directing them. He glances between the three before taking off into a one-way tunnel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Okay, you obviously know that guy. Who is that?” Wash is the first to ask questions.They’re walking into the tunnel, Locus leading at the front. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “We never could defile his name, but he’s the leader of this colony. While Kimball is a president, he’s more like a chief. I told you guys I never spent the time to break through this place, but many reports indicated he’s the big reason why we would never punch through.” </span>
</p><p>   “So… he’s like a samurai freelancer?” </p><p>
  <span>   Wash looks at him disdainfully. “I don’t know about that-“ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Actually, yes. He’s just more… </span>
  <em>
    <span>traditional </span>
  </em>
  <span>with his combat. I’m shocked he even had an EMP device. But these people are more than likely on the brink of starvation. This trade agreement </span>
  <em>
    <span>has </span>
  </em>
  <span>to happen.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Do you think I could beat him in a sword fight? What the fuck did he even have, a katana? Am I saying that right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Tucker, I need you to </span>
  <em>
    <span>focus.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Tucker sticks his tongue out at Washington, but of course it’s ineffective from behind his helmet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   When they reached what was supposed to be the colony, they were taken aback; the place was </span>
  <em>
    <span>huge. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Dwellings were carved into the high walls of the cavern, reaching as high as eighty feet in the air. The ceiling was colored in beautiful shades of blue from the ice, deep swirls and curves adorning it. They notice the people of the colony, and their strange lack of armor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “You guys don’t have armor..?” The lack of armor made Washington uneasy, uncomfortable with the idea of that much vulnerability. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   The man in Hayabusa falls back, now walking alongside the trio. “No. The only people with armor are those who fight; that’s me, my two guards here, and the few soldiers who ambushed you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “...It’s because you’re cut off from everyone, isn’t it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   He nods solemnly. “We do not have the funding for the equipment, much less run it. All we have is what we’ve picked up over the years. But few venture this far into our territory. With trade, we were able to gain access to a good food supply. But that was about it. With the civil war, they weren’t really focused on helping us outside of food.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Locus is tense, but speaks anyway. “And then they eventually ran out of food.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Another nod. “It has not been easy, thanks to you and your pirates cutting off </span>
  <em>
    <span>their </span>
  </em>
  <span>trade routes as well.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Wash interjects, pivoting the mood of the situation. “But that’s why we’re here. The war’s over, and your people are starving. We want to fix that. You’re one of the last groups we know of that needs help.” Wash stops in his tracks, grabbing Tucker’s wrist and gently pulling him back to get him to stop moving, too. Locus follows, three feet from Wash and Tucker. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “But to help, we need to communicate. I’m Washington, and this is Tucker. That’s Locus. So, who are </span>
  <em>
    <span>you?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>“...My name is Caito. These two are the Twins, C.J and D.J. They’re deaf, so don’t bother with speech. But they’re experts with sign.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   The term “twins” is almost a trigger for Washington. Flashes of purple and green fly through his mind; midnight walks with North on the MOI, fighting alongside him and York, and then a bullet to the head for South. He shudders, closing his eyes. Tucker wasn’t there for South’s death, not like Church. But he could tell something was up. It wasn’t the time to bring it up, and Tucker knows this, so he attempts to sooth by placing his hand to the middle of Washington’s back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   The twins, however, were unique. The male, D.J, was </span>
  <em>
    <span>huge, </span>
  </em>
  <span>taller than Locus and maybe even close to Maine’s height. His armor was the same void-black as Caito’s, but with a bright, teal highlight. His sister, C.J, was a fucking beast of a woman, only a few inches shorter than her brother and clearly as muscled. Similar armor, only with a darker blue as her armor accents. The visors matched their accents, both sporting FOTUS helmets. A rarity Locus almost never saw in the black market.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Wash tries to smile from behind his helmet, giving a short nod. “Okay. Well, we’ve been sent by President Kimball. We have some stuff we wanna go over, and it’s all on a holo-pad. Where can we go to discuss?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Caito brings them to what looks like a general’s room, only made of ice. There were military crates everywhere, some overtaken by ice like nature would to an abandoned building. The twins are close behind, keeping careful eyes on Locus. There’s a table at the center, and behind it is a map carved into the wall. Caito stands in front of it, while the trio stands on the other side. Washington pulls out the holo-pad, placing it to the center of the table. He presses a center button, which activates a holographic map.</span>
</p><p>   “This is us; we’re several klicks from you guys, about thirteen, actually.” Washington is pointing to their base on the map, and then nods to Tucker who uses his hand to “scroll” all the way to their current position. “And this is you guys. You’re completely cut off from the rest of the colonies. Being underground in an ice maze doesn’t help. But with your permission and your guidance, we can fix that.” </p><p>
  <span>   Caito’s uneasy, and that much is obvious in how he stands. “The last time we let others in is why we’re cut off completely to begin with. And now, that same person responsible for it is standing in front of me. I’m not sure if we’re ready to reopen ourselves to this. There has to be another way.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Tucker’s pondering for a moment before he quickly gains an idea. “Okay, how about this; Wash and I are the only ones allowed to come through. We have pelicans, and plenty of them now. Instead of a trade route, it’s a trade </span>
  <em>
    <span>mission. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Wash and I will bring the supplies you guys need on a regular schedule. We can help build you guys up, and when you’re all back to your pimpin’ selves, we can start helping you guys buy shit from </span>
  <em>
    <span>other </span>
  </em>
  <span>colonies. We’ll do the transporting. That way, nobody has to consistently come through here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Wash and Locus are </span>
  <em>
    <span>again </span>
  </em>
  <span>impressed. They don’t know where this shit is coming from, but they’re glad it’s happening. Caito thinks for a moment, then looks up at the twins. He’s signing back everything Tucker suggested, and it looks like the twins are up for the idea. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Okay. That might work. However, we’ll have issues with international radio. Ours are destroyed.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   They discuss everything wrong, broken or missing in their colony. Washington gives Caito several files of available contact information, as well emergency contacts. In two hours, they come up with an official agreement; Kimball and her people will help bring Caito’s colony (called Usava) back up on its feet. In return, they’ll provide information on how they obtained several of their unique tech. The other half of their agreement included Usava contributing to society again; buying and selling with other colonies once they were capable of doing so again. To help balance the fact that nobody other than Tucker and Washington would be coming through this place (they also arranged an agreement to allow Kimball in, too), Caito’s people wouldn’t be entering other colonies, either. </span>
</p><p>   The twins have long been gone, Tucker and Wash proving to be trustworthy enough to be left alone with Caito. Locus has kept his mouth shut, ultimately deciding his input would be disregarded by Caito, anyway. But after the meeting finished, Caito granted them a chance to really look around the colony and examine what they had to work with. </p><p>
  <span>   Tucker was quick to find the nearest group of people to mingle with, most of which were women. Wash discards the bristling feeling he felt bubble up his chest, and replaces it with the curiosity of the fact that non-armored civilians are </span>
  <em>
    <span>so much shorter </span>
  </em>
  <span>than Spartans-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Locus couldn’t go anywhere that isn’t where the Twins were, so he simply watched from afar. Washington was looking over their current rations, making a list of everything they would need to get them back up and running and ignoring Tucker’s antics. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   But then he’s hearing the women giggle, and Wash is doing his best to stay focused. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Okay, if I have to stay focused, so does he-</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>   Washington mutters under his breath, stalks over to Tucker and pulls him by the elbow. “You have a job to do, Tucker, c’mon.” The women look disappointed, and Tucker groans dramatically. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fine.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>He lets Wash pull him away before quickly regaining control of his arm. “Didn’t know you were the jealous type, babe.” He’s smiling, and he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>smug, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Wash can tell without being able to see Tucker’s face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “No, because I have nothing to be jealous about. Now get to work.” Wash is flushing at the pet name, but feels horribly taunted considering they weren’t even </span>
  <em>
    <span>together. “</span>
  </em>
  <span>And stop calling me that.” </span>
</p><p>   Tucker narrows his eyes, tilting his head to the left. “You sound a little bossier than usual.” </p><p>
  <span>   “What did you expect? Tucker, these people are </span>
  <em>
    <span>starving </span>
  </em>
  <span>and in dire need of help, and you decide to flirt with them?”</span>
</p><p>   It’s Tucker’s turn to be defensive. “I’m not flirting, dude. They gave me some intel. Here.” He hands over a small data chip to Washington, who takes it hesitantly. </p><p>
  <span>   “Then why were they giggling?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Uh, because I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>funny, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Wash.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   The blond puts his hands on his hips, head cocked to the side with zero room for amusement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “God okay, it’s because I fuckin’ missed my pocket when I was storing the chip back into my leg armor.” And god, that was so </span>
  <em>
    <span>Tucker </span>
  </em>
  <span>it was painful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   And Wash felt like a fucking fool now, too. </span>
</p><p>   “I- fuck, I’m sorry. That’s just something you kinda do, Tucker. Like, all the time.”</p><p>   “Well, yeah, but when was the last time you saw me do that? I haven’t in weeks, dude. Maybe even months.” </p><p>
  <span>   Wash is about to argue, but his brain kicks up the past memories of the weeks that have gone by. Shockingly, Tucker’s actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>right. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Wash didn’t remember the last time he hit on Volleyball girl, or Carolina or Kimball, or even any of the other cadets on base. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>He’s only flirted with me-</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Chorus to Wash? Hello?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Wash shakes his head, then tilts it to the side. “Why haven’t you? That’s like- your </span>
  <em>
    <span>favorite </span>
  </em>
  <span>thing to do, Tucker.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Tucker’s taken aback. He pulls off his helmet to give emphasis to his confusion by showcasing his features. “It used to be, yeah. But I’m kinda preoccupied with you, dude.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Okay. Now it’s Wash’s turn to be taken aback. And Tucker said it like he was so </span>
  <em>
    <span>sure-</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>   “</span>
  <em>
    <span>What?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Why are you acting like you’re fuckin’ blind? It wasn’t obvious?” Tucker’s trying not to smile, because it’s just so like Washington to not fucking get when somebody was interested in him. “I practically grabbed your tits last night.” He snorts, canines sharp and visible with his snarky smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Wash is </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuming </span>
  </em>
  <span>in color at the face. “Wha- I don’t- </span>
  <em>
    <span>no you didn’t-“ </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>“Take off your helmet, lemme show you something.” Tucker knocks on the side of Wash’s helmet like a door, a stupid lopsided grin on his face. Wash is sporting an embarrassed frown, however, and hates the idea of Tucker seeing the massive blush that’s probably reached his chest by now. But he complies, because there’s few things Wash would deny this man. He was incredibly weak, after all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   But when Wash took off his helmet, he wasn’t expecting a gloved hand to gently take hold of his chin. Tucker stands on his tip-toes, then tilts his head to the side. He lands home, sealing his lips over Washington’s. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Those blue eyes nearly popped out of Wash’s head, because the last time he’d ever been kissed was </span>
  <em>
    <span>high school. </span>
  </em>
  <span>To say Wash is rusty was damn-near a compliment. But after the shock subsided, Wash starts to notice a few things; a), Tucker’s lips are fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>soft, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and b), Washington’s lips were fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>not. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>   Tucker pulls away before Wash can even reciprocate. Not like it mattered, because he hardly even had half a mind to do it anyway. But his blush had gone from his chest all the way to his navel. His freckles were far more prominent now, and his heart was beating faster than should be physically possible. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Tucker’s waiting for a reaction, but when he doesn’t receive one in time he grows worried that he might have misread-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   But Wash silences those worries by grabbing Tucker by the breastplate and reeling him back in. He’s kissing him again, this time with </span>
  <em>
    <span>purpose. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Tucker makes a noise of surprise in the back of his throat, but smiles into the kiss and lets his hands drop to Wash’s waist. Wash pulls him tighter, but the armor is an obstacle that he wish he could fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>burn-</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>   Locus clears his throat, the Twins close behind him. “Sorry to interrupt, but we either need to finish gathering intel or head back. Our time is almost up.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Wash pushes Tucker back, blushing furiously and then blushing </span>
  <em>
    <span>worse </span>
  </em>
  <span>when he sees the trail of saliva connecting their lips. Wash is bringing his metal-clad wrist up to wipe his mouth, sputtering a response back to Locus. Tucker only snorts in amusement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “We’ll load our shit up in a second, Locus.” Tucker responds with an even tone, a stark contrast to the blond in front of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   When they loaded the pelican, Wash was tense, but clearly satisfied. They sit beside each other on the way back, Locus across from them. There’s plenty of shit they need to talk about, though. Tucker’s still emotionally unstable, and would be until they figure out what his dream about Delta was about. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>  But for now, Wash was going to enjoy </span>
  <span>the warm feeling of Tucker’s fingers laced with his against the support bars of the pelican seat. </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Kudos and comments motivate me! Expect pretty frequent updates. I’m on @thedicethrower if you wanna see updates on my story as well as art!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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